Sunday, 23 December 2012

It’s Saturday morning, the
fifth of January, and the doorbell has just rung.I’m in no hurry to answer it – I have an ineluctable sense that I know most
of what’s coming – but I look out of the window anyway.Sure enough, an enormous UPS lorry is parked
in the road, and a team of men are unloading what looks like, although it can’t
be, an even bigger packing case.I open
the door.

“Delivery for you,
squire,” says the man.

“I know,” I reply
submissively.

*

It had all started so
promisingly.“I’m going to send you lots
of lovely presents when I’m away,” my True Love had said.“More and more, every day, till I get back.”

“That will be wonderful,
darling,” I said, meaning it.

And Christmas Day, sure
enough, brought a delightful surprise.A
tree, with a bird in it.How nice, I thought,
stuck it on the patio, and carried on the festivities with my family guests.

Next day, Boxing Day,
there was another delivery, this time of a pair of doves.And another tree.With a bird in it.Ah, I thought, I’m starting an orchard.But what’s with all the birds?Ah well; she is an unusual girl, my True
Love.

Over the next couple
ofdays, though, after I’d acquired two
more pear trees, complete with partridges (as we’d worked out they were by a
bit of googling), four more doves, six hens and four peculiar creatures that
the label informed me were something called ‘colly birds’, I began to wonder if
something might have gone slightly wrong.But the arrival of five lovely gold rings (along with the by now
accustomed avian life, and tree) soothed me a little.Not even the addition of six geese, shedding
eggs, by special delivery on Sunday threw me, although the garden was becoming
a bit crowded by now.

Then the first batch of
swans arrived.

I logged on the suppliers’
website.“Howdy!” said the message on
the help page.“We’re having a teeny
problem with our delivery systems at the moment.Please try later.Our best people are working to sort this
out.”

When the milkmaids arrived
next day and started trying to milk everything (I directed them to the colly
birds), my guests decided it was time to leave.They were wise – by yesterday evening, when I’d accumulated a population
of twenty-four milkmaids, twenty-seven dancing girls, twenty lords, and a band
of pipers, in addition to all the birds (though some of them had flown away, I
think), it was getting a little close in here.We did have a good party last night, though.

*

I look at the ominous
packing case in the drive.I know I’ll
have to face it soon, but in a weak feint at procrastination I go and check the
wine cupboard.It’s nearly empty.My True Love returns tomorrow, and she’s
going to need a drink.I have an
idea.Those thirty-five rings must be
worth a bob or two down the scrap gold shop, and the wine warehouse is still
open.I beckon to some of the lords, and
they come leaping over.

“Little job for you,
sires,” I tell them.

Then I go out and crack
open the massive packing case.And the
drummers start a-drumming.